


Constructs

by canadino



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canadino/pseuds/canadino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He that is good for making excuses is seldom good at anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constructs

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is a quote from Benjamin Franklin.

Takasugi grabbed him and kissed him right as he was coming out the back of the school to grab firewood for the stove in the cafeteria. Gintoki might have thought it was sweet, if he hadn’t been grabbed around the collar without warning as he was stepping out of the doorway, eyes so trained on the pile of chopped wood he missed the figure standing in his peripheral until it was too late. Takasugi had put his hands on Gintoki’s face and held it like the precious glass jars Shouyou used to store his pickled vegetables for a snack whenever he studied during the hour after dinner. He didn’t kiss Gintoki’s lips with force like he was rushing into it with abandon, as he did whenever he didn’t know how to do something but didn’t want to admit it. Gintoki wondered who Takasugi kissed before. It was evening after a particularly exciting lecture; someone in the class had gotten a hold of a few scandalous shunga prints that had been passed around whenever Shouyou had his back to the class. Gintoki remembered staring at snowy white skin; the only people he knew who didn’t have his sun kissed skin from being outside since birth were the girls and the back of Katsura’s neck and the skin above Takasugi’s wrists whenever he pulled his sleeves up. 

“What’s this about?” Gintoki asked when Takasugi finally took his mouth back, his fingers lingering on Gintoki’s cheeks before he also took them back hastily.   


“I just wanted to know what it was like,” Takasugi mumbled, obviously embarrassed. Almost all of the prints had the figures locked in a passionate embrace. Gintoki had been more distracted by the beautiful kimono patterns and where some animals had been placed. Now Gintoki felt a little embarrassed by extension. He quickly went and gathered some firewood into his arms.   


“Well, now you know,” he said, after the embarrassment untwisted itself from his stomach.   


Takasugi made a noncommittal sound. “Let’s do it again,” he suggested.

“Why?”  


Takasugi’s fingers were twisting themselves into knots at his hem. “Remember what Sensei said to Katsura? We’re only young once so we should do bad things while we can.”

“I don’t think that’s what he said.” Gintoki didn’t remember it either, but he was certain Katsura would have perished at the thought of being told to be bad. It had taken him an unexpected amount of time before Katsura had dared to go back up for seconds at lunch, and that wasn’t even against the rules even if it was frowned upon. “Do you think doing that is bad?”  


“I don’t know.” Takasugi was staring holes into the ground. His chin was tucked so far into his collarbone Gintoki wondered if he could ever bring it back up for another kiss anyways. “Not like you care. You’re bad through and through.”   


“I don’t want to share my badness,” Gintoki huffed, because anything Takasugi wanted he was going to keep all to himself just because. Takasugi looked up at him with a glower, but Gintoki didn’t flinch when he reached out and kissed him again. Takasugi, fussy boy he was, didn’t mind the way the pieces of wood pressed into the front of his clothes and left tiny splinters. “I guess you’ll go and kiss Katsura now too, while you’re at it,” Gintoki said because he didn’t know what else to say.   


“Katsura’s too good for that,” Takasugi said. He pulled some pieces of wood from Gintoki’s hands and ran back inside.   


[=]

By the time the three of them had enlisted, Takasugi had stopped kissing him for a while. Gintoki hadn’t minded it when it happened but he wasn’t going to press about it when Takasugi started seeking him less and less, averting his eyes and becoming more competitive for Shouyou’s attention. Then of course, there were bigger, more pressing issues to think about than kissing. There was a war to fight. The older adults were proving to be useless against the Amanto, getting themselves killed and forcing the younger generation to fill those bloody boots. No troop was going to turn down three determined, able-bodied young men. 

At first the fairly regular stops into local villages kept stocks full and trysts steady, but as the Amanto continued their offense it became more important to stay hidden, flitting from forrest to plain and not laying eyes on anyone they didn’t already know for weeks on end. The first comment had been thrown around offhand for those who liked to stop by streams and keep themselves tidy; these were like ladies-in-waiting who protested at the sight of dirt on their expensive yukatas. Katsura never let it bother him, too busy strategizing their next successful battle and perhaps that was why the men tended to leave him alone, respect for a sharp mind. Takasugi rallied, though, refusing to be shamed. There was a difference between keeping battle scars and being grimy. 

Gintoki didn’t know where anyone had managed to get their hands on a pot of rouge, but he suspected it had been pilfered after a trip to the brothel from the last big city. It sat glittering from the fire light on top of Takasugi’s coat before dinner. The hushed laughter and shaking shoulders indicated there was no ill will, just teasing and silly escalation, but Takasugi took one look at the rouge and stormed away into the tents. Katsura had since stopped chasing after him after he’d gotten into one of his moods, settling instead to help the cook dole out dinner. Gintoki thought Takasugi would be back, his stomach shamefully betraying him, but Takasugi did not turn up all through dinner and it wasn't until Gintoki had walked through the clearing after everyone had scattered before bed that he had seen that Takasugi’s coat and the pot of rouge had disappeared. 

They still had tents, but they were becoming ragged old pieces of cloth from travel. Gintoki’s last tent mate had unfortunately passed in the previous battle and he was still getting used to the silence without soft snoring and the constant tossing and turning. He was staring at the night sky through a hole in the top of the tent when a rustle at the opening made him look back down. Takasugi was climbing in unceremoniously and climbing on top of Gintoki and before Gintoki could open his mouth to tell him to hop off back to his own sleeping arrangements, Takasugi kissed him, his hands splayed out on Gintoki’s chest. 

He was about to knock Takasugi into next week but he felt something left behind on his mouth after Takasugi had sat back, his weight pressing into Gintoki’s groin. He brushed his hand against his mouth and it left a dark smear. “Take it off,” Gintoki hissed, bringing his arm up and trying to rub Takasugi’s face with it. “They took the joke too far; you’ll give them the wrong idea if you go around wearing that.” 

“Just like I gave you the wrong idea?” Takasugi was kissing him again, and somehow as Gintoki was trying to push him off and tell him off, he found his hands sliding down Takasugi’s back and up against his bum, anchoring the boy. He also found himself rutting up against the body on top of him and Takasugi was not resisting, kissing with his eyes closed. They were sixteen, for god’s sake.   


“What are we doing?” Gintoki asked breathlessly, his mind snapping back to rational thought for a brief moment.   


“Convenience,” Takasugi said against his mouth. “It’s not good to hold it in for weeks on weeks. It’s distracting. We could die at any minute and I don’t want to remembered for dying for Sensei with blue balls.”  


The thought was so out of place Gintoki let out a laugh and Takasugi pressed a hand over his mouth fast. “Shut up. I said that but I don’t want everyone else to know. If you don’t want to, just say so.”

“I don’t not want to,” Gintoki said around Takasugi’s hand. They kissed again, quietly in the dark. “It’s just convenience, huh? Just two people doing the do and we don’t talk about it when the sun’s in the sky?”  


“Exactly.” Takasugi was pushing Gintoki’s shirt up. “It’s nothing but a circumstantial business transaction. It doesn’t mean anything.”  


“Okay,” said Gintoki. “I can do that.”  


[=]

Gintoki felt Takasugi’s eye on him during the whole revelry following the salvation of Edo, after Utsuro had breathed his last, Shouyou’s eyes brought back seemingly from the dead as he gazed upon his last and best disciples. It was bittersweet but they had saved their teacher, when it came down to it. Katsura, ever the stoic fearless leader, cried for the first time for real that Gintoki had seen in ten years. Counting casualties and assessing damages was for the next morning; for now, people were scraping up what they had and found for a citywide celebration, feasting and drinking to be had. For once, Sakamoto was not turning a quick buck and asking Mutsu to fetch their secret storage from the ship. Mutsu responded that their ship had been destroyed, but her unsmiling visage cracked and then she was laughing. The precious planet her boss and her mentor had always spoke about was saved; even she knew how amazing it was. 

Gintoki snuck away, a quick moment of silence for his dead teacher, and when he turned around, Takasugi was there, his brows furrowed. They stood facing each other in a long silence before Takasugi’s hands twitched at his sides and Gintoki would relent and say he also moved too. When they broke away, Gintoki rubbed a thumb carefully over the scars on Takasugi’s cheek. 

“What was that?” he asked. “Just a spur of the moment celebration kind of thing?”  


“Yes,” Takasugi said. “We just got emotional for a moment. We saved our teacher from his darkness, I’ve killed the Edo as we know it, and you’re back to living the waste of time you call your life.”   


“Right.” Gintoki scratched the back of his neck. “So what are you up to now? I guess you’re still a war criminal but since we won they’ll probably pardon us.”  


Takasugi tucked his yukata back neatly into place. “I’ve always been a wanderer. Now won’t be any different.” 

“You can stay with me, you know. And Katsura. We have no reason to hide anymore. It won’t be so bad. It’s mind-numbingly pleasant in Kabukicho even on a bad day.”  


Takasugi allowed himself a few days to get situated in the new political space, picking fights with Kagura over her bowl which he liked. A few days turned into a few weeks, which Shinpachi tallied how many times he complained about spilling ash on the tatami. He had brought it up at least fifty-three times before he stopped counting. Katsura stopped by from time to time, satisfied that he could see two old friends in the same place faithfully month after month without having to come in disguise. A year later, Sakamoto decided to set up an office in Japan, on the ground, after trade relations had improved somewhat. He asked Gintoki and Takasugi to contribute funds from their household. 

“So what are we calling this again?” Gintoki asked, sneaking Takasugi’s pipe without asking. Kagura and Shinpachi were out getting groceries and it wasn’t unusual that Gintoki took out his futon for a quick nap or whatnot and sometimes he still wet the bed so it was normal for him to have to air it out. Until then, Takasugi was lying upon it, catching his breath and pushing his damp bangs off his face.   


“I don’t know,” Takasugi said. “You call it.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. It's been a while.


End file.
